


Pink Matter

by Bape1852



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, F/M, Girl Penis Lexa, Heavy Angst, Jealous Clarke, Jealous Lexa, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-19 13:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9442118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bape1852/pseuds/Bape1852
Summary: The old couch springs loudly make known their time of disuse, creaking as the warm bodies on top melt into each other. Lexa’s vision is tinged with grease black as Clarke’s center gripes around her member, hot and solid. It feels like the most right thing that’s ever happened in her lifetime; being inside Clarke or being with Clarke, whichever comes first.And Clarke comes first.Loud and unreserved in the too hot trailer as if it was just them in the entirety of this god-forsaken universe.  Her blonde hair slick with sweat, hands maneuvering to run along the expanse of the naked body beneath her. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, and Lexa as if on cue, orgasms inside of Clarke letting the hot liquid shoot inside her, trailing the edge of her belly, and she’s tired. Tired and in love enough to let the blonde collapse on her spent body.





	1. Summer's Here

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr. (Username:bape1852)

So far, she was alive.

A lonely driblet of sweat rolled between the valley of Clarke’s breasts, pooling in her navel.

She had a lovely bellybutton, really. A god-given innie is what you’d call it; the slight cupping of her stomach about a pennie’s size, hollowed out and brimming with heated perspiration.

“Fuck, Lexa,” Clarke breathed out, “I told you it was too hot to be having sex.”

She was right, of course. Clarke was almost always right. But Lexa loved the heat, and that was great because the heat _loved_ Georgia. An old, white analog thermometer sporting a hand-painted picture of a woodpecker alongside the degree markings hung on a silver clasp above the makeshift porch outside, letting all of Zuni Village Mobile Home Park know it was a scorching one-hundred-and-four degrees, or just up to Wally Woodpecker’s orange beak. That meant one thing for Bromwood, Georgia:  

Summer was here.

The single-wide mobile home lacked any type of air-conditioning system, and while Lexa Woods loved a good bellybutton, if there’s one thing she loved more, it’d be summer.

Not _just_ summer either, blazing sun, faded Levi sky looming overhead _summer_ . Eating quarter-pound one-hundred percent beef patty hamburgers, and sharing strawberry milkshakes in the late afternoon at Rainbow Diner _summer._ Or, taking the boats out to Lake Oconee and watching the phenomena of the late evening sunset blur from orangeish cream to watermelon pink and wishing that time would stand-still for just a few moments.

Last Friday had summed up the semester for most students at Skyward Preparatory School with the graduating seniors receiving their diplomas along with their cringeworthy adulthood territory. Most had worn cheesy smiles and excited eyes, reveling in the overwhelming feeling that high school had finally come to an end. Yet, most seemed to forget that the next four years of anxiety and tests would be spent on a different campus - just at an overpriced university.  The stragglers of the junior class had had summer school to look forward to, but not Lexa, and definitely not Clarke - they had three months of seventh heaven summer awaiting them.

And endless amounts of shameless sex.

Except no air conditioner meant quicky Clarke - which while being the greatest experience you could expect to find in small town Georgia, was extremely short-lived.

See, when Clarke gets quick, she gets sloppy. The sight unfolding before Lexa was an unforgettable one, Griffin’s full-bottomed creamy white breasts bearing two fat, round pink nipples like the double-scoop strawberry ice cream from Trouble’s Ice Cream Parlor; uncontrollable, yet in tandem with Clarke’s every movement, bouncing wildly on her chest. Clarke swiftly grabs each one, using her index finger and thumb to pinch at the swollen nubs, riding Lexa’s thick cock without her hands, and the brown-haired, pupils-blown-wide-teenager has to firmly grip both sides of Clarke’s waist to keep her dick from sliding out.

The old couch springs loudly make known their time of disuse, creaking as the warm bodies on top melt into each other. Lexa’s vision is tinged with grease black as Clarke’s center gripes around her member, hot and solid. It feels like the most right thing that’s ever happened in her lifetime; being inside Clarke or being with Clarke, whichever comes first.

And Clarke comes first.

Loud and unreserved in the too hot trailer as if it was just them in the entirety of this god-forsaken universe.  Her blonde hair slick with sweat, hands maneuvering to run along the expanse of the naked body beneath her. Their eyes meet for a fraction of a second, and Lexa as if on cue, orgasms inside of Clarke letting the hot liquid shoot inside her, trailing the edge of her belly, and she’s tired. Tired and in love enough to let the blonde collapse on her spent body.

* * *

 

By the time Sunday morning rolls around, Lexa had forgotten all about the ear-splitting argument that had the neighbors standing on their dusty lawns, craning to see the raucous that was going on not just a few hours before the rage-fueled sex extravaganza took place. She looked over at the wrinkled sheets, noticing the slight curve in the dingy fold-out mattress where a hundred-twenty pound, blonde haired-blue eyed seventeen year old would have fit perfectly. On the coffee table, a lone half-smoked cigarette loiters in the ashtray along with a few trashy magazines and outdated mail. Lexa picks it up and takes a drag, blowing smoke, and watching it curl in the soft rays of the morning light.

“Clarke?” Lexa absentmindedly calls out . She could smell full-roasted Columbian coffee and the heavenly aroma of homemade Southern-style cheese, grits and fatty-back bacon being cooked on the propane stove in the kitchen. The living room has an old Samsung box television set currently playing old Saturday morning cartoon re-runs. An old episode of Tom & Jerry is on. Lexa watches as the wealthy cat Butch makes a move on Tom’s girlfriend, Jerry laughing heartily in the background. A few moments later she hears the loud _clang_ of pots and pans and silverware coming from the kitchen. Lexa quickly turns her head to see Clarke, reaching on her tiptoes to return the fallen belongings to the rightful place on the upper shelf  .

She’s naked. And to be honest looks more beautiful than anything Lexa’s ever seen in her entire life. The twitch beneath the thin cover readily agrees.

“Clarke?” she calls a little bit louder.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m just finishing up the food,” Clarke says in her best smoldering I-just-woke-up voice.

“You fixin’ to make me a plate, right?”

Lexa watched as Clarke walks gracefully around the separating counter with a full plate of Southern cuisine in her hands, moving to half-sit on the bed, she hands it over and quickly pecks Lexa on the lips.

“Of course baby.”

But Lexa was not focused on the plate anymore. She was focused on the hues of pink Clarke’s pussy was giving off like rose petals on a summer rosebush. She was focused on the plump, tender lips and remembering her taste and wanting more than anything to be there again. Lexa shoves a spoonful of cheesy grits into her mouth, but not before Clarke can catch a glimpse of her excited member looking as if a small tent had blossomed beneath the soft linen.

Clarke throws a handful of blonde hair over her shoulder and lays on her stomach, lips hovering just above the contours of her lover’s seven-inch dick.

“Clarke, wait.” Clarke immediately stopped. “. . . I want you to ask for it. Can you do that for me?”

Clarke didn’t hesitate.

“Only for you,” Clarke’s rested her head on Lexa’s lap, eyes wide, her bottom lip jutting forward in a slight pout, “Can I _please_ have your cock Lexie. _Please, please, pleassseeee_.”

Lexa moved the plate to the top of the glass coffee table, putting one hand on Clarke’s cheek, rubbing her thumb slowly across her bottom lip. And then, forces her mouth over her cock’s head beneath the thinly veiled sheet.

Clarke sucks until a visible wet spot the size of a silver dollar can be seen on the sheet, tasting the trace amounts of precum slipping through the bedding, kissing up its length toward a very taut stomach, between a pair of perky breasts and ending at a pair of impatient lips. Kisses of which were all tongue and the taste of each other - she never wanted it to end. A soft hand tugged at the covers, springing free an anxious cock.

“Fuck, Clarke . . . Now.” Lexa grabs Clarke’s hand and places it over her member, waiting until there was only one grasping it.

“I said _now_ ,” Lexa growled. Clarke immediately began moving her hand from the base of the cock to just before the tip and repeating, nose to nose, hot, irregular breaths on her face. “Sorry baby . . . mmm,” Clarke yelped as she felt slender fingers unexpectedly glide through her pulsating cunt. “No . . .  you’re not,” Lexa shakily breathes out, “but you will be.” At those words, Clarke is immediately pushed off of Lexa’s side.

“On all fours, and _don’t_ make me wait,” Lexa says. As soon as Clarke manages to get into position, the tip of Lexa’s dick graze her bottom lip. The springs of the futon _creak_ as Lexa, on her knees, thrusts into Clarke’s mouth, clutching at the hair on the back of her head, going so far that Clarke’s nose just barely touched the base of a toned stomach. _In_ , the groan of the mattress loud and fuel to Lexa’s burning desire. _Out,_ the tip of her cock just barely leaving Clarke’s plump lips. The blonde didn’t break her stare, eyes like tiny blue flames amidst the circling darkness. Clarke reached back to slip two fingers in her own swollen pussy, matching each push with the pulse of the full cock in her mouth.

“You’re gonna . . .  make me . . . cum.” The words wrestled out of Lexa’s mouth. “If you want me to pull out . . . baby, you gotta move . . .   _now_.”

Instead, Clarke takes the full length of the cock in as far as her mouth would allow, feeling the flood of hot spurts of cum streaming into her mouth, down her throat, and filling her belly.  The slippery nectar of her pussy coats her fingers as her body spasms, struggling to swallow a mouthful of cum while reveling in the warmth of her own orgasm. Lexa falls back on the mattress, breathing hard and heavy. Pulling her fingers out, Clarke places them on the tip of her tongue before slowly slipping them all the way in, tasting herself, sucking and finally letting go with a soft _pop._ She crawls over, placing her head on Lexa’s stomach, watching as a pair of hands reached overhead for the plate of food on the coffee table.

* * *

 

 Lexa had drifted off into post-sex delirium, the void between not being asleep, but not really being awake. It had a funny habit of distorting matter, making it pink around the edges. Not hot pink like Paris Hilton. More like the softest shade of a cherry blossom, or a cotton-candy sunset curling around the mountainside.

The sound of a car door slamming shut broke Lexa from the weird phenomena as she slowly tethered herself back to reality.

The place looked cleaner. She guessed Clarke had tidied up because the disaster a weekend spent in a sex-fueled daze left a tornado of a mess behind. The clock read mid-afternoon and it was hot enough to believe she had slept the morning away. Lexa could hear voices coming from outside and when she looked out of the window blinds she saw that Abigail was home, the little SUV parked just next to the porch. She was getting out just as Clarke was walking toward the car’s tailgate. She probably had bought groceries or a few things from the thrift.  Lexa quickly threw on some clothes and went out to help, stepping out of the screen door and into another hot summer day.

“Hey Abby.”

Lexa! Bless your pea-pickin’ lil’ heart. Always good to see you. Care to help?”

“Of course.” She padded passed Clarke on the way to help her mom, who was carrying a few bags in each hand. They were just far enough for Lexa to ask why she hadnt’t warned her that Abby was home.

Clarke shrugged. “She doesn’t care.”

“She could’ve seen me naked as the day I was born, Clarke!”

“Oh no, someone call the police.”

Lexa rolled her eyes, and continued toward the trunk.

“Clarke said you girls had an agenda today.” Abby had come around to join her.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

“Do y’all need some dollars? Or some food before you go? I can whip up somethin’ real quick.”

Lexa didn’t really know much about Abby, hell, she didn’t know much about Clarke, but she could tell from Abby’s eyes that the offer was genuine.

“Oh, no thank you. I just ate.” They walked toward the porch.

“Well if you change your mind honey . . . You sure you don’t need anything ? I’ve a twenty in my purse.” Now in the kitchen, Abby took a bag of whole wheat bread and placed it in the cupboard. The place was small, but Lexa managed to maneuver enough room to start putting things away too.

“That’s real nice of you Abby, but, I’m sur-”

“Lex, let’s go.” Clarke had reappeared from the hall in a white spaghetti tank and sandals.

“Why don’t you girls stay and have dinner, maybe watch a movie later tonight. Clarke what’s that one with those teenagers- Crying Breakfast Friends?”  Lexa silently listened to the exchange. She didn’t know much, but she did know where the peanut butter went.

“It’s called Breakfast Club Mom, and we have to go. Lex c’mon, you drive babe.”

They got in the SUV and pulled out of the lot. Clarke would call out directions when they were close, seeing as Lexa didn’t have a clue where they were headed.  The interior of the car was crappy, like a soccer mom with too many kids which Lexa found extremely odd considering Clarke was an only child as far as she knew. She tried at conversation.

“So . . .” Lexa didn’t really know what to say. She remembered their argument.

“So?” Clarke was tapping off-beat to the song on the radio, bobbing her head up and down in a goofy fashion.

“Are we going to talk about it?”  
“About what?”

“About us.”

Clarke paused for a moment. “You know what’s weird, Lexa? The days go by and you don’t even think about it. Then suddenly you’re driving through a small town down south with a pretty girl and everything’s different.”

And then she hit the radio off dial and spoke seriously. “I don’t know what I want. I don’t know about tomorrow or the tomorrow after. But I want today with you.”


	2. TOO MUSHROOM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr. (Username: bape1852)

The old SUV maneuvers through the downtown district of Bromwood. Lexa notices a roach in the ashtray compartment, a few entrails of smoke rising into the muggy afternoon air. She fishes it out and smokes it in one drag. The sun is high - not a cloud to be seen.

 

“Must be a hundred degrees in here Clarke. This thing have air conditioning?”  Lexa asks, tugging at her white  t-shirt, feeling the wind from the open window against her sweat stains.

 

“Nope.” 

 

They drive past the community park. Gaggles of children are swinging from the monkey bars, hanging on the steel jungle gym.  The green grass dances in the sun. The tall oak trees  laugh with them, swaying in the summer breeze. 

 

Clarke has the Fleetwood Mac tape playing on the stereo,  mouthing the words she knows, swaying her head to the ones she doesn’t.

_ Like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering . . .  _

The words wash over Lexa. 

_ What you had, and what you lost.  _

 

Stevie Nicks was a damn good singer. She remembered listening to the band for the first time on the turntable back at the trailer.  Seemed like forever go they were sitting on the couch/futon in Clarke’s (living) room, the heater on full blast, hiding from the cold behind thin walls and, not to be sappy, really good lovin’.

 

She leans forward,  twisting the volume knob so the music is just a faint mumble in the background. 

 

“Where are we going anyway?” She asks.  __

 

“A place,” Clarke shrugs her shoulders, grinning as she reaches for Lexa’s hat. “You’ll like it.”

 

“How do you know that?” She takes one hand off the wheel, using it to pat down the hat hair she knows she now has. 

 

“It’s in the woods.” Clarke turns the volume up once again, drowning any chance at more conversation. 

* * *

The van was twenty miles outside the nearest gas station  in a makeshift campsite surrounded by tall pine trees. Lexa examines the landscape, which shows a snot colored Volkswagen mobile in the center.  There is a seared pan resting on the grill of a fire pit, a stone’s toss from a checkered picnic table.

 

The mobile was not really mobile at all. On either side, cement cinderblocks replaced the tires. The passenger glass window was shattered, as if some hot-headed stranger had deliberately rammed their skull right through it. Flecks of blood on the pointed edges of the glass only furthered that theory. The mid-window was covered with an oddly embellished tapestry.

 

_ Looks like someone lives here,  _ Lexa thinks. 

 

The place reminds her of a festival she went to in ‘09 for springbreak. Seeing the familiar van that an annoying amount of festival-goers had arrived in, and the fact that she knows the brand of hot dogs left in the pit offers marginal comfort at best.  

 

She trails closely behind Clarke, who appears to be walking directly toward the mysterious van. 

 

“Clarke, that is  _ not  _ a good idea,” Lexa worries. 

 

“Relax Lexa, I know this place.”  Lexa’s anxiety goes  ignored as dainty white fingers clasp the metallic handle and slide the door open. She waits anxiously  as oh-so-brave Clarke beelines toward the passenger seat,  scrambling  over the center console to rummage through the glove compartment.  

 

Lexa stands where she is for a moment, surveying the van.  The side Clarke opens leads to the backseat, or,  what was left of it anyway. It  had been gutted clean, replaced by an armless sofa. A few pillows were strewn  carelessly across  it, and a neatly folded quilt sat atop the far end. 

 

She observes the oakwood flooring. It seems fitting for the strange boxlike vehicle.  

 

She climbs in. Before she can pull herself over the threshold, she hears the unmistaken   _ ch CH c _ ock of a firearm.

 

_ What the actual fuck,  _ she thinks as she backs out, hands in the air. 

* * *

Holding a double barrel shotgun, stands a girl in high-waisted,  faded Levi jeans with holes in the knees. Her dark brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail. She wears a baseball cap.  Printed on it in small white block letters is THESE THINGS HAPPEN.

 

“Howdy doodee.” 

 

Lexa wants to throw her head back and let out a loud laugh.  _ Howdy doodee,  _ Lexa thinks.  _ I’m going to die. I’m going to die and the words ‘Howdy Doodee’ will be the last words I will ever here.  _

 

As fast as a lighting bolt, the girl swiveled three inches to her left and pulled the trigger. The spray missed Lexa by a sewer’s needle. 

 

“WHAT THE FUC-” 

 

“What the fuck is right.” The girl spoke fast, intelligently. “Who the fuck is even better. I have one more in the chamber, and  a trigger happy finger waitin’ for my go ahead. What I’d really like to know is whose name's written all over this piece of lead for I blast them to pieces.” 

 

“You can-, yo-u can’t j-j-j.” Lexa couldn’t find the words. 

“I can’t just what? Just bLOW YOU THE FUCK BACK TO WHATEVER RABBIT HOLE YOUR RODENT ASS CLIMBED OUT OF.” The girl kept Lexa in her sights all the while tearing her a new one.

 

She stopped. “Tell me your name.” 

 

“L-l-lex, L-l . . .”  She tried. 

 

“For fuck’s sake, it’s Lexa.” Clarke said. She steps out from the van. 

 

Clarke is holding a book that says TOO MUSHROOM: A GUIDE TO YOUR PSYCHEDELICS. Nonchalantly, she flips through the worn pages, ignoring the raucous in front of her.  

 

“Clarke? Clarke! Is that you?” The dark haired girl lowers the gun. “Is she with you?” 

 

“Yes, ugh.’ Clarke sounds annoyed. ‘ And Jesus Raven, she’s about to p-p-piss her pants.” 

 

Clarke and this girl, Raven, make eye contact once. A second passes before they double over laughing. 

 

Lexa is confused. Ordinarily, a gun in the face might mean a little bit of sympathy. Maybe just a compassionate  _ Are you okay?  _

 

Yet there she stood, watching tears roll down their faces. Heard the loud guffaws of laughter until Lexa was sure they would need an inhaler. Looked on as Clarke’s face turned from sun kissed to pale blue. 

 

She lowered her hand, turned of her heels, and walked back to the SUV. 

 

“Ray . . . Ray!” Clare said in between huffs of laughter. “I have . . . to go.” Wheezing, she grabbed her book from where it had fallen to the ground in her comedic extravaganza.

 

* * *

 

“What are you going to do?” Octavia Blake asks.

 

“Christ, I don’t know. I think .  . . ” Lexa trails off, eyeing the clock above the kitchen window. It had been a week since the “Raven debacle.” Lexa hadn’t talked to Clarke since she dropped her off back home. She sits at one of the counter stools. “I think I love her.”

 

It was 4 a.m. and Jack Rabbit Slim’s was not nearly the party house it was on a weekend night. The place was dead, smelling vaguely of smoke but mostly like any other restaurant before the morning rush set in - like good coffee and breakfast food. 

 

On the right of the entrance there is a woman speaking quietly to a man dressed in blue overalls. They occupy a window-side booth.  The man, a blonde with a scratchy beard, sports a grim look on his face. He pushes cold potatoes on his plate from one side to the other .

 

To the left  is a bulletin board. On this is a number of  photographs that have been pinned, the old-fashioned kind with deckle edges. They are of the community, mostly. Backyard cookouts, the local fair, ballgames at the old sandlot.  That old sandlot is now a general store. Clarke often goes  there to buy bread and cheese or a three dollar movie for  Friday nights.

 

Lexa swiftly reaches into her denim jean pocket, pulls out a rolled cigarette and places it snugly between her lips. The waitress grabs a lighter from inside the front pocket of her stained apron and lights it for her melancholy friend.

 

Lexa thinks for a moment as she  smokes  her cigarette in the dull light.  A  forlorn look sweeps her face. 

 

“I mean, she wants to fuck my brains out on any god-given day,” Lexa continued, “and it's not like I’m asking for a diamond ring, we’re seventeen for Christ’s sake, but I love her Octavia.” 

 

Her best friend watches the light go out in her eyes as continues to speak.

 

“I just don’t understand why she doesn’t love me too.” 

 

Just then, an older fellow shuffles up to the counter.

 

He has on suspenders, a neatly pressed button-down shirt, rimless glasses, and a worn-out pair of brown penny loafers. His dark brown  hair is plastered to his skull, and parted to the left. 

 

“Can I get change for a twenty, Octavie?” He took large puffs of air between each word. 

 

“You sure can, sir. ” Octavia said, wearing a genuine grin. 

 

She counted the correct change and placed it in the man’s hands. As soon as he walked away the smile disappeared. Octavia leaned an elbow on the counter, chin in the palm of her hand and spoke bluntly.

 

“I think you should break up with her Lexa.”

 

“That’d be easy, if Clarke thought we were dating. I don’t even know if she _ considers _ me her girlfriend.” Lexa inhaled  the smoke from her cigarette and blew it out the corner of her mouth.

 

“You only just met her Lexa. Love is like a herd of turtles, it’ll get there but it’s gonna take some time.”

 

“I know, I know. Three months isn’t a long time to get to  know someone, but O, have you ever just met someone and it doesn’t matter who they are or what they’ve done or where they’ve been. You have to know every single thing about them or it feels like there’s a big gaping hole the size of a bowling ball where your hearts supposed to be. Three months isn’t a long time, but I love her.”

 

Lexa sighed. It’d been a week since they’d seen each other. Clarke only called last night to make sure she’d had a ride home early this morning.

The girl should have been off work by now. She glanced at the clock hanging above the kitchen passthrough. It read a quarter past four.  _ Should’ve been let off an hour ago _ . 

 

Lexa stares through the diner’s front door across the street to the nearly empty parking lot at  PJP Marketplace. Besides her 71’ El Dorado, there weren’t too many other cars parked in the lot.

 

_ What could be taking so long.  _

 

“Something's has to  give,” Octavia draws her words out like she always does when something gets her going . “Make her jealous or give her an ultimatum, just do _something_. Don’t just say you ‘love her’ cause that cow’s been bred and milked and damn near _slaughtered_.”

 

“Make her jealous, that your blue ribbon advice?”  Lexa thinks it over. “ . . . Think she’d fall for that shit?” 

 

She shakes it off and catches a blur just outside of her peripheral.

 

“You’ll figure something out babe. Here she comes.” She follows Octavia’s gaze over toward PJP’s lot. 

Sure enough, Clarke waltzes through the grocery store’s exit alongside a pretty strawberry blonde in matching black slacks and a tucked in button-up. A nametag that read their names respectively hung just beneath the shirt’s collar. Clarke was laughing at something. Lexa took that as her cue to leave, tossing the roach into a nearby ashtray on her way out.

 

“I gotta go, O. Tell Big Blake I said hey.”

 

She vaguely heard Octavia laughing, “Not the other way around Lex! I said make  _ her _ jealous!”

 

The bell to the entrance jingled as she exited the diner. Lexa walked over toward the slight dip in the concrete that led onto the main road. She checked both ways  before hurriedly crossing the street. The actual streetlight was a few yards away, a single red traffic light blinking on and off. 

 

She slowly ran toward the two figures standing just beside her car. “Hey, Clarke.” Lexa said as her steady dog-trot turned into a brisk walk, “Are you ready to go?”

 

Now within arm's-reach, she lent down to give her a kiss . At the last moment, Clarke’s head swiveled and Lexa caught her cheek.

 

“Yeah.” It was still dark out, Clarke’s eyes gave something of  a blue tint, Lexa slowly looked over to the unnamed girl standing next to Clarke.

 

“Hi, I’m Niylah. It’s-” Lexa cut the girl off.

 

“Get in the car, Clarke.” She turned sharply on her heels and walked up to the door of the El Camino.

 

“Lex-”

 

“I said get in the  _ fucking  _ car.” She yanked on the door handle, slamming it  _ hard,  _ before dropping herself on the tattered seat. Once the key was in the ignition, she watched as Clarke said something to  _ Niylah _ , and got in. 

 

The car rolled on through the empty backroads. Lexa felt the anticipation like heat in her bones- felt it ooze up her spine as if it were some strange creature out of a horror movie. 

 

Her heart beat loud and fast; Her vision became hazy like watching a distant memory play out in real time. 

 

“Who was that?” Lexa asked.

 

“Who was who?” Clarke replied. Lexa slowed down so much so that a determined runner could have easily passed them up.

  
“I’m gonna ask you one more time, Clarke. Fuckin’ play dumb with me again. Who was the girl?” Lexa’s voice was dangerously even, her eyes focused on the outstretched road before them. The heavens were a dark shade of blue and Clarke’s eyes . . . Clarke’s eyes were a shade to match.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on Tumblr. (Username: bape1852)


	3. Chapter 3

WHO STILL WANTS ME TO FUCKING UPDATE THIS??? Sorry guys, been dealing with hella depression and anxiety. I have no friends and I'm all alone at college. BUT, I want to get back into writing cause I think it's the only fucking thing I'm good at. If anyone's still interested I'll continue this shit, but if not I'll start something new. IDEAS COMMENTS WHATEVER IS WELCOME IM OPEN TO ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING. Sugar Momma's and daddy's Venmo me though @elisapetabaptista as I'm broke and need to pay for fucking therapy.


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